


Something More

by orphan_account



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: AU, Incomplete, Juvenilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-09-22
Updated: 2001-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-11 04:59:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. In a world where Keller never landed up in Oz, Chris and Toby meet on the outside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something More

Tobias Beecher woke crying into the darkness. Mouth parted in a choked-off cry, Toby held himself immobile as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. He slowly worked the confused jumble of sensory information into some order. Home, he thought, _safe_. His body was slower to grasp the situation than was his mind. Toby's muscles had tensed as he fought to connect with reality. It took a conscious effort to relax. Breathing deeply and steadily, Toby worked his way down the length of his body, concentrating on easing the stiffness out of his bunched muscles.

With a soft groan, Toby pushed himself up on his forearms, sending the sheets and comforter sliding down his bare chest to puddle in his lap. He blearily sought out the dull red glow of his clock. Five-thirty, Toby noted and rose fully into a sitting position. He had been home for just over six months, but was still operating on Oz-time. That unvarying routine of waking, eating, sleeping had worked its way deep into Toby and he still found himself following that rigidly defined pattern. Since his return, Toby usually woke hours earlier than the rest of the household--especially when nightmares chased him from sleep as had happened this morning.

Toby kicked his blankets the rest of the way off. He swung his legs free from the bed. His toes were curling and releasing against the wooden floor, hands limply hanging between his knees, forearms resting on his thighs. His head dropped, chin nearly touching his chest. 'Show pride in yourself, Tobias,' his mother chided him from memory. 'Stand tall and proud and never let anyone see you tremble.' Toby's lips twisted humourlessly.

There was a robe draped over the straight-backed chair to the left of his bed--a gift from Gen on that last Christmas they had shared. They had no longer been passionate enough about each other to search for truly meaningful gifts. Their first Christmas together, Genevieve had sought out a signed copy of one of Toby's favourite books and had wound herself around him as he carefully slit open the silver and green wrapping-paper. He couldn't quite recall when they had stopped trying to delight one another.

Ignoring both the chill in the air and the robe, Toby padded towards the bathroom on bare feet. He took care of necessities in the darkness. Toby peered at his dim reflection in the mirror as warm water tumbled and spilled out of his cupped hands. He didn't need a light to know what he'd find staring back out at him. Wild clumps of blond hair--too long--that would with some urging from a comb settle down save for the curls at his neck. Stubbled jaw that annoyed his mother's sense of presentability and made Harry's eyes furrow in concentration when he rubbed his small hand against Toby's cheek. Blue eyes gone dull with lack of sleep, red-rimmed, shadow-lined. There were lines in that face Toby couldn't remember seeing not so very long ago, frown lines deeper than those gathered by smiles, sorrow etched into his face. 'One must always look respectable,' his mother continued, 'composed, impeccable.' He looked anything but. Depending on the day, Tobias could declare himself to look either haunted, lost, or weak.

Toby never had been the actor his mother was. His feelings spilled out onto his face and informed his posture despite his best attempts at cool and collected. Harsh experience had forced Toby to try harder at presenting a strong face to the world. He had learned to hide hopelessness and terror behind a masks of varying degrees of insanity and rage. Even those had been imperfect, cracking open when Toby was hit the right way. He wasn't any more free to leave himself open at home than he had been in Oz. His parents and children could no more deal with Toby's coping mechanisms than they could with his true emotions. He upset his parents, but it was the thought that he scared his children that truly made Toby ache.

With a long-drawn sigh, Toby fumbled for the light-switch. He squinted against the sudden glare and brought his hand to his eyes. Toby lowered his hand once his eyes had adjusted, placing both hands against the edges of the counter. He leaned forward slightly, comparing the image in the mirror to that he had held in his mind. His imagination had been kinder.

With a huff of impatience at his own glum considerations, Toby reached for the soap. He wetted his face and rubbed on the soap. 'For unblemished and baby-smooth skin,' Toby thought, 'and I know _Vern_ appreciated that.' He splashed water onto his too-pale face and attacked the droplets of water with a towel. His face had pinked with the force of the friction by the time Toby neatly replaced the towel on the rack.

A swirl of blue and white paste was worked onto the stiff bristles of Toby's toothbrush. With mindless determination, Toby scrubbed at his teeth. The toothpaste was foaming at his mouth. Toby snorted lightly and peeled back his upper lip, snarling at his reflection. 'Mad dog Beecher,' Toby thought and brought his teeth together with a click. He spat and hunched over the sink as laughter took him. He'd have to send Dr. Morton a thank you note. He was sure the dentist would appreciate knowing that all his hard work was appreciated. Toby drew in a final gasping breath and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

Toby straightened, finding his reflection once more. The laughter--as dark as its source had been--had lightened his expression somewhat. He wouldn't be terrifying or depressing anyone quite yet today. Toby briefly considered his facial hair and shrugged. Victoria Beecher thought it made him look scruffy. Toby was feeling a bit scruffy, so that was just as well. He wasn't quite ready to face his neatly shaven face.

The house was still dark. Grey light was hardly a trickle through around the edges of the heavy drapes at Toby's windows. He opened his bedroom door and stepped out into the hall. The other rooms still held their inhabitants shut away from the world. It had been years since Toby had lived in his parents' home and it had taken him some time to re-learn how to navigate in the darkness. As a boy, Toby had been well-able to traverse the entire length of the house without fumbling. Even in his youth, he had been a restless sleeper and had spent hours late at night in his father's study pouring through the books found there.

Sally wouldn't be making breakfast for hours yet. Not quite hungry, but having nothing else to occupy his mind and time, Toby ventured into the kitchen. The stove light illuminated the room enough that Toby could see what he was doing. Feeling foolish, Toby couldn't help but hush the fridge when it squeaked as he opened it. Narrowing his eyes, Toby critically assessed the foods arrayed within the fridge. The range of foods Toby was capable of preparing with any degree of competence were limited. Household staff had taken care of meals while Toby lived with his parents, and once married, the kitchen had been Gen's domain. He could manage scrambled eggs, Toby decided and reached for the necessary ingredients.

Toby had eaten, washed his small amount of dishes and returned everything to its proper place by the time he heard the first stirrings from upstairs. Though a far sounder-sleeper than her son, Victoria tended to rise early as well. Toby had always thought Victoria unwilling to allow any business of note to pass by while she slept. Toby had moved from the kitchen and into the den. He had sunk into the armchair nearest the window--the curtains pulled back enough to allow a stretch of light to fall across the carpeted floor. Wrinkling his nose at the article detailing Governor Devlin's newest prison policy, Toby lowered the newspaper at the sound of footsteps descending the stairs.

"Mother," Toby greeted her, his voice softened by the early hour.

"Tobias," Victoria smiled. She paused a moment at the foot of the stairs before sweeping towards Toby. "I hope you slept well?" she asked, a gentle prodding for an opening into Toby's emotional state.

"Passably well," Toby answered. Sometimes, Toby choked on anger at his parents, feeling them unwilling to confront who he was and where he had been. Just as often, that feeling was met with the conflicting relief that they didn't know and didn't press him too hard for details about his time in Oz. He knew his dark moods and sometimes wild mood swings confused and worried Victoria and Harrison, but the idea of allowing them a glimpse as to what fueled his emotions was beyond question. Shame curled within Tobias, and he could not bear the thought of horrifying his parents, of showing them how fast and far he had fallen.

Victoria's right hand rested briefly on the crown of Toby's head. The gesture startled Toby. Neither of his parents had been physically demonstrative with their feelings. Toby followed Victoria's retreating hand, meeting her eyes. He lifted his eyebrows in silent inquiry.

"I had meant to tell you yesterday," Victoria said. She smoothed the material of her dark slacks over her hips and moved towards the twin of Toby's chair. Rather than taking a seat, Victoria stood beside the chair, her hand settled on its back. "I invited the Penfields over to lunch this Saturday. You do recall Jenna? An absolutely delightful young woman."

Toby took a calming breath as he folded his section of the paper and lay it aside. He remembered Jenna Penfield--petite and slim with curling brown hair and a ready smile. Pretty and entertaining and Tobias wasn't interested in his mother's attempts to resurrect his social life. "Mother," Toby said flatly, "I'm not interested in pursuing a relationship now. Not with Emily, or Jenna, or any of the other suitable woman you seem so inclined to introduce me to."

Victoria's lips pursed. "Tobias."

Toby's lips twisted. "Even if I were interested, do you really think that Jenna would be taken with the idea of seeing me socially?"

"Jenna wasn't here when you went away," Victoria countered, and Toby snorted at his mother's vague reference to his arrest, trial and imprisonment. Victoria studied her son's set expression and sighed. "Toby. I simply want you to find happiness. You have a second chance. Don't waste it by hiding yourself away."

"You don't understand," Toby protested. Too unsettled to remain still, Toby rose from his chair. He ran his hand through his hair, blond strands twisting about his fingertips. Toby moved to the window, his back to his mother, and stared out across their manicured front lawn.

"Then tell me!" Victoria cried out, softly, knowing that neither of them wished this discussion to be overheard by the children.

Tell her, Toby thought, as if it were that simple. He couldn't even fully understand it himself. There were days when he was taken completely unaware by his own reactions to everyday occurrences. "I go out, and I see it in their faces. I'm a stranger, an oddity, a whispered conversation between tittering gossips."

"You can't be ruled by what others think," Victoria said. He could hear her moving around, the rapping of her heels, the slide of silk and flesh as she crossed her arms.

Toby snorted. He had spent his childhood absorbing Victoria's admonitions not to appear weak or foolish or gauche before others. He doubted that he had been spoken of save in the vaguest and most inoffensive terms during his years in prison. Toby bit the inside of his cheek--hard. No need to bring that into an already strained conversation.

"It's not just them who see me differently. I see everything with new eyes. I don't even see myself the same any longer. I can't move forward while I don't even know who or what I am anymore!" He turned away from the window, seeking out his mother--needing to see that she understood what he was having such difficulty fitting words to. Her eyes were shinning and something loosened in Toby's chest. "Mother--"

"No one is expecting anything. Just talk to her. Have some fun," Victoria said.

"Fuck. _Fuck!_" Toby said.

"Tobias!"

"Victoria? Tobias?" Harrison warned as he descended the stairs, the youngest Beecher held against his hip. "Someone wanted to say hello," he said, passing Harry into Toby's arms as the younger man stepped forward.

"Good morning, Harry," Toby smiled down at his son. His skin was soft and sweet smelling when Toby kissed the child on the forehead. Harry blinked lazily and smiled. "Sally is making pancakes. With blueberries. What do you say we go get some?"

"Uh huh," Harry answered. "Didn't get _any_ berries last time."

"We'll take care of that right now, then." Toby hefted Harry into a more comfortable position--unwilling to release his son quite yet--and they headed towards the kitchen, Gary and Holly clattering down the stairs even as Toby and Harry set off. Deliberately setting aside that morning's nightmare and the painful discussion with Victoria, Toby was determined to be the warm and cheerful father his children deserved.

...~*~...

Most of Toby's coping mechanisms had been heavily centered on escapism--his own thoughts, his emotions, his memories. He had escaped through drinking, and added drugs to his repertoire while in Oz. Toby had been clean and sober for years, with Sister Pete's help, and he had no desire to return to the man he'd been while loosing himself to his addictions. Freedom had made the possibility of escape a physical reality. Unable to deal with his family and his own place amongst them quite yet, Toby had physically removed himself from their presence.

Most of his transportation needs had been met by taxis, public transportation and his parents since his release. At the end of his work day, Toby hadn't sought out his father or called a cab. Rather, he'd caught the first bus that arrived at the stop nearest the law offices where he worked as a clerk and had spent the last several hours moving from line to line, simply giving himself up to motion.

Wiping rainwater from his stinging eyes, Toby wryly decided that perhaps getting lost and rained on wasn't much of a healthier way to work out his emotional turmoil. Raindrops were clinging to his lashes, making his vision blur. He blinked and then scowled at the payphone before him as he realized that this, too, wasn't about to be of use to him. He was going to drown before he found a working payphone, and hell, he wasn't even quite sure how Harrison would find him even if Toby were to come across a working phone. The old Tobias Beecher hadn't made use of public transportation, much less even considered venturing beyond the bounds of his well-defined home, social and work areas.

With a huff of irritation mingled with worry, Toby wheeled around and into a man's solid chest. He heard a growled curse and instincts roared back to the forefront of Toby's mind. He took a step back, curled his hands into fists and peeled back his upper lip in a snarl. "Oh, fer Christ's sake," the other man muttered. "I didn't see you. I was just trying to get home with my fucking groceries, okay?" he continued, and Toby peered in the direction of the other man's hands and discovered that there were indeed white plastic bags hooked around his hands.

The man had already moved around Toby when he found the ability to speak again. "Hey, wait!" Toby called out, teeth chattering. "You have a phone I could use?" he asked, deciding that this man was a safer bet than wandering about in the dark in the hopes of finding some means of contacting his father. Toby couldn't recall his life ever having involved these kinds of choices. He had worried about his cases, how best to present himself to his peers and whether Gen would take a membership to a health club the wrong way. These days, his life was a cross between the tragic and the absurd Toby decided as he tried to make out the larger man's face in the rain-blurred darkness.

Toby shifted uncomfortably as the man considered him for a long moment in silence. "Okay," he said, so unexpectedly that Toby briefly wondered if he'd imagined the curt response. But the man was walking again and when Toby rushed to catch up, the other man didn't make a move to stop him.

"I'm Tobias Beecher," he said, because one always followed the prescribed social niceties.

"I don't give a fuck," the man said.

Well, this was promising, Toby thought. He kept all further thoughts and observations to himself, following in silence as the other man stepped into a nearby apartment building. The man was heading up the stairs, not looking back at Toby. Toby climbed up after him, his eyes fixed on the muscles working in the back of the man's legs beneath his wet jeans. With an embarrassed start, he realized what he was doing and dropped his eyes to the stairs.

The man was settling his straining grocery bags on the kitchen table when Toby stepped into his home. He turned as Toby nudged the door shut and they saw each other face to face in the light for the first time. Meticulous lawyer's mind and ex-inmate's suspicious nature combined in a thorough examination of his temporary host. The other man returned the favour. Toby was fighting a blush by the time his eyes rose to the other man's face. The man's posture had altered subtly during their mutual assessment. Toby found himself remembering a conversation he'd had with Gen shortly before their marriage. 'Some people exude sex. You're a cutey, Toby, but you're not one of them.'

Toby had told his mother that he saw things differently now. He wasn't ever about to tell her exactly how his perceptions had shifted. The world had divided into predator and prey, and he flowed from one category to the next in the space between moments. Victoria had introduced Toby to Emily Carter shortly after his release. They had gotten along well enough, but their relationship had ended shortly after the first time they had attempted intimacy. Emily had been made uneasy by the scars Toby wore, had reared back in horrified shock and the sight of the swastika burned into his ass. Holding himself above her, Toby had been suddenly aware of his own power. He could remember the feel of a larger body looming over his, knew then that he could hurt Emily should he so choose. 'Does it ever hurt?' he'd wondered. 'Are you ever frightened?' He had rolled off of her, shaking, and had wound his arms about his stomach. Emily had sat in the opposite corner of the couch, her eyes wide and startled, uncertain as to what had happened.

Toby had emerged from Oz with an awareness of his own body's capacity to both give and receive pain. It was impossible to explain that now he saw eyes assessing him with a different criteria in mind than Toby had previously supposed. The Tobias Beecher of old would have declared the other man's scrutiny as arising solely from curiosity, possibly tinged with annoyance. The man he was now saw possibility in the man's intense gaze. Sex, danger, pain and pleasure had lost their boundaries and bled together.

"Uh," Toby said, his eyelashes dropping in an attempt to blunt the force of that bright blue stare. "Your phone?"

"Yeah. To your right," the man said. "Hey, Beecher," he added when Toby turned in the indicated direction. "Chris Keller."

"Thanks, Keller," Toby said and smiled. He had to get the fuck out of here. _Now_.

...~*~...

Chris Keller had been having a less than pleasant day. It wasn't as if he wasn't grateful to Frank for giving him a job at the garage. And it sure as hell wasn't like Chris wasn't well aware that he was lucky not to have ended up locked away, suffering through yet another round of 'rehabilitation.' If not for some fancy lawyer-speak and an unfortunate procedural error on the parts of the cops who had brought him in for the job on the convenience store, Chris would have been provided with ample opportunity to regret his crimes in prison. That series of events had finally knocked Chris out of his blind rush towards self-destruct. He had already spent more years of his life than he cared to consider in the care of various corrections facilities and he had no desire to end his life in one.

Chris liked his job as often as not. He had always been good with his hands, and Frank had been the one at his side the first time he'd poked around in an engine, curious as to what made it work. Frank Ellis was an old drinking buddy of the elder Keller. He was loud, gruff and blunt, but lacked the furious anger Chris' father had so often exhibited. Frank hadn't ever stepped into Chris' volatile homelife, but he had been willing to educate Chris in those areas his own father had neither the energy or interest for. He hadn't ever tried to direct Chris' life--not even when it was so obviously headed in the wrong direction. But fuck, he'd given Chris a job, and it's not as if Chris had really expected the older man to do anything more than he had.

The sense of restlessness which had been holding him on edge for the past several days peaked and mutated into something familiar as Chris got his first good look at Tobias Beecher. The man was a surprise. Nice, Chris concluded, very nice--even with tired eyes, ragged stubble and blond hair made dark and flat against his skull with rain. He accepted Beecher's wary assessment and smirked when the results were made visible through a rising flush to too pale cheeks.

Chris left the bathroom door half-open as Beecher punched a number into the phone. He peeled off his wet clothes and flung them over the show-rod to dry. Chris toweled his short hair as he listened to his guest's conversation.

"Dad?. . . No, no, I'm fine. . . I know, I'm sorry. I didn't meant to worry you. I just. . ." Beecher's strained voice was softened when he continued, too low for Chris to hear clearly.

Fixing his towel around his hips, Chris left the bathroom and made the short trip to his bedroom. Beecher was shivering, hunched slightly over the phone. Water was trailing from his hair and onto his face. He was absently tugging at the hem of his shirt, trying to draw the sucking material away from its hold on his chest. Heat curled in Chris' stomach at the sight of him. He shook his head and stepped into his room. Casting aside his towel, Chris riffled through the bottom drawer of his dresser. He found a comfortable pair of grey sweat-pants and slid them into place.

"Keller?" Toby called out.

Chris appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the door-frame. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Uh, well, where exactly are we?"

Chris' eyebrows hiked upwards in bemusement. Beecher was fucking unbelievable, Chris decided even as he answered the question. Beecher was silent for a long moment before lifting his right shoulder into a shrug. Chris snorted and shook his head. "Give the phone to me. I'll take care of it." He eased the phone loose from Beecher's stiff grip. "You're dripping on my floor." Beecher startled and looked down. "I've got some stuff on my bed. Get changed."

"I. Okay. Thank you," Toby nodded. He cast an uncertain glance over his shoulder before disappearing into Chris' room. Unlike the other man, Beecher shut the door. Chris grinned and turned his attention to the phone.

Chris had hung up and was sprawled out on the couch when Beecher emerged from the bedroom. He had drawn his hands into the sleeves of the sweatshirt Chris had provided, and his arms were folded defensively before his chest. His hair had begun to dry, wisps of hair curling at his forehead and the nape of his neck. Chris' fingers twitched against his thigh, and had Beecher not looked so fucking jumpy, he would have gone over and rested his hand against the back of the blond man's neck. Vast amounts of experience allowed Chris to imagine any number of ways in which such a scenario might end. Skittish as Beecher appeared, it wouldn't be one of the more enjoyable conclusions to that fantasy.

"You're awful far from home," Chris commented. He shifted, lowering his feet to the floor. "Sit down, already."

Toby cautiously lowered himself into the corner of the couch. Chris didn't think he'd ever seen quite that expression from anyone sharing such a space with him. "I needed to get away--I had to think," Toby explained. He turned slightly, enough to face Chris. "You don't have to entertain me. I'm sure you have other things to be doing."

A slow smile worked itself across Chris' lips. "None of 'em are half as interesting as you, Toby."

Toby blinked. "I find that hard to believe," he said, flushing again. Beecher jerked back to his feet, tugging at the waist of his borrowed pants as they began a slow inching down his hips. Toby stopped next to the window, drawing back the shade enough to see the darkness pressing against the window. The glass shuddered in its frame with the force of the rising wind, raindrops flinging violently against the window. His reflection was ghostly against the window.

Chris studied the other man's slightly rounded shoulders. He rubbed at his face and sighed. Harrison Beecher had sounded cultured and confident over the phone--he had the voice of a man well accustomed to presenting himself to others. There had been a thread of worry beneath his words as he took careful instructions on how to reach Chris' apartment. Chris was beginning to understand why.

"Maybe I should wait downstairs," Toby suggested.

"If you want. Or, I could make us something to eat," Chris countered, not willing to give up on this unexpected but not completely unappreciated company.

"Oh," Beecher breathed. He held still and silent for a moment before nodding slightly. "Okay."

"Okay," Chris agreed, smiled and rose--Beecher's eyes fixed on him warily the entire time.

Title: Something More (2/?)  
Date: Dec. 28-31, 2001

The cloud cover had thinned by Saturday--no longer heavy and dark with rain, but rather thin grey wisps through which warm sunlight passed. Gary, Holly and Harry were outside, taking advantage of the nice weather. Toby had left them in the back of the house, shouting with laughter as they scrambled over the swing-and-slide set erected there. He could still remember the long Sunday afternoon during which he and Gen had struggled to fit the pieces of the play-set together and figure out what the instructions were attempting to tell them. The sun had beat down upon his bare back as Toby had squinted back and forth between the drawing in the booklet and his own handiwork. Gen had moved out from the house with a glass of lemonade and had sat beside Toby on the grass, both of them sipping from the tall glass in turn.

Despite his best attempts to look interested in the conversation stuttering about him, Toby couldn't contain a sigh. He shifted in his seat and fervently wished that he too were outside. Toby knew that Victoria meant well, but this lunch date with the Penfields was far from Toby's definition of a pleasant way in which to waste away a weekend. Considering his own job and the hours his children spent at school, Toby would much rather have taken this time to strengthen his relationship with the kids. They were no longer uncertain around him, but while in Oz, Toby had determined that he would become a far better father upon his release. He had always loved his children, but he had not immersed himself in their daily lives. Toby wanted to become an integral part of his children's lives--someone they could trust and depend upon.

Toby cast his eyes about the room. Donna Penfield's empty glass was clutched in her hand atop her lap. Her manicured thumbnail was tracing over the rim of the glass. Toby gratefully latched onto the potential escape that empty glass offered. "Mrs Penfield?" Toby called out, his carefully modulated voice not breaking into the discussion Harrison Beecher and Charles Penfield were carrying on. "Would you care for a refill?" Toby inquired once he was sure he had gained Mrs. Penfield's attention.

"Why thank you, dear. I do believe I would," Mrs. Penfield answered, holding out the glass for Toby.

Toby took ahold of it, and--ignoring Victoria's chiding look--hurried across the room towards the bar. God, Toby thought, he wouldn't mind something a bit harder than an ice tea himself. He wasn't quite sure whether events such as these has lost what little charm they'd held while he was in Oz, or whether the lack of alcohol blurring his thoughts simply made it that much clearer how dreadful he'd always found social gatherings.

A firm hand rested against Toby's shoulder. He jumped, liquor sloshing onto outside the glass as his arm jerked. "Sorry," Jenna whispered, "I didn't meant to startle you, Tobias."

Toby summoned forth a smile. "I was a bit distracted," he acknowledged. "No," he said when Jenna moved to clean the liquid pooling at the base of her mother's glass. "Give this to your mother, and I'll take care of it."

Jenna returned quickly, having passed the refilled glass into her grateful mother's hands. She stood close enough to Toby that her body brushed his. He could feel the warmth of her, the softness, and wished that he felt something for her. "You look bored out of your mind," Jenna said bluntly. She didn't sound as if she minded. Her full lips were curved into a smile when Toby cast a look at her from the corner of his eye.

"Is it that obvious?" Toby asked with a hint of amusement.

"I'm afraid so, yes," Jenna said. "Your mother seems terribly disappointed. I do believe she was hoping for sparks to fly."

Toby snorted. "I'm sure your parents are just as pleased that they failed to emerge."

Toby felt more than saw Jenna shrug. "You are the source of endless speculation." She turned to full face Toby's profile. Her head cocked and her eyes narrowed. "But really, Tobias, I've always preferred to form my own judgments." Jenna looked over her shoulder and wrinkled her nose delicately. "Oh no. Daddy's bringing out his cigars," she sighed. Laying a conspiratorial hand against Toby's forearm, Jenna leaned in towards him. "I detest the smell of those dreadful things. What do you say we head outside?"

"Yes," Toby said, "I was thinking along those same lines."

The children turned quiet and cautious around strangers, and Toby ached at the memory of quick smiles and laughter. Jenna didn't seem to mind that Harry had retreated upon her advance, holding tight to Toby's leg. She was bright and easy with the elder two children, and managed to break past Gary's unease enough that he allowed her to push him on the swing. Toby shifted Harry into his arms, the small blond head resting in the curve of Toby's neck and shoulder. He watched the scene unfolding before him and wished that it was real.

He saw Jenna's mouth curve, her neck arch, a sliver of soft flesh between her slacks and blouse as she stretched and attraction was but a quick flicker. Jenna was nice, attractive, the kind of woman Tobias had always chosen to approach. It was terrifying to think that he had felt more, stronger and quicker, about Chris Keller than he did about the lovely woman playing with his children. Not, Toby thought with a twist of his lips, that what he had felt around the other man could in any way be classified as comfortable or even welcomed.

Since his release from Oz, Tobias had felt distanced from his previous life and those people who had inhabited it. He longed to reconnect with his parents, but found it difficult to bond with them. They had never been overly close--it had rarely been either of his parents whom Toby sought out in moments of triumph or despair. He still desired their approval, but his parents were both conscious of their image and position and Tobias felt himself damaged, unable to simply leave behind the confused mess of violence, sex, rage and shame Oz had opened up within him. He and Angus were closer, but there too, Toby feared somehow tainting his brother with his own darkness. He had been gone from his children's lives too long, their relationships maintained during brief snatches of time in a less than comforting location. Actions taken in Oz had moved out into the real world to scar Holly and Gary, and Harry had almost no contact with his father until Toby returned home. Relations among his family were tense on every side--each of them attempting to carefully navigate a minefield of accusations, guilt, sorrow, a thousand other intricately nuanced emotions.

He had been frightened while in Chris Keller's company--of the other man, of himself--but he had felt so very alive, sharper and more excited than he had in as long as he cared to recall. They had eaten reheated lasagna at the kitchen table, Toby refusing the beer Keller had offered in favour of water. He had eventually relaxed enough to enjoy the company. It had felt nice to talk to someone who wasn't treating him as a curiosity as had become the norm in his former world; or to someone who didn't hold a threat in every word, look and touch as had been the case with Vern, and eventually others, at Oz.

Toby wasn't sure how he felt about the open appreciation which had lingered in Keller's eyes during their meal. Gen had loved him, their sex life had been satisfying, but never had she looked at him as if anything about him had simply taken her breath away. He could still remember Gen's laughing voice: 'you're a cutey,' and God, that had stung. 'Cutey' was puppies and kittens and children, and nothing a young man wanted to hear from his fiancee. There was a part of Toby open to admitting that he had liked being seen as sexy by Keller. The rest of him was squirming in an uncomfortable mix of fear and embarrassment--he wasn't--he'd never--Vern didn't count--Vern was a nightmare--and God help him, he had been watching Keller's ass more intently than he was the gentle sway of Jenna's breasts as she pushed Gary on the swing.

A sudden cry from Holly brought Toby's attention snapping back to the present. Harry's head lifted from Toby's shoulder. He twisted in his father's arms as he sought out his sister. Holly had stumbled over one of her brother's discarded toy trucks and had smacked her arm against one of the swing-sets' posts. Her face was scrunching up, lower lip quivering in a prelude to tears that had changed remarkably little from the baby Toby still remembered. Toby settled Harry on the grass and headed over to Holly to head off her display before it could truly begin.

Gathering Holly into his arms, Toby firmly reminded himself that things were already messy enough. Best to just forget Chris Keller and whatever stirrings of a crisis the man had ignited in Toby. No use borrowing trouble, and it wasn't as if he would be faced with Keller again.

...~*~...

Worry was one emotion that held steady. Tobias had been shorn down to the essentials--stronger and more fragile both. He did not fold down in the face of conflict, but a word or sound or look could shatter his composure and send Toby reeling back into his memories. Harrison had spent most of his life involved with the law, but rarely had he considered what those laws meant to those they touched upon once beyond the courtroom. Toby had fallen asleep on the couch one evening, and he had come awake screaming, fists flailing, when Harrison had shaken him awake. Harrison hadn't been able to protect his son from life, or himself, and he couldn't bear to think of what drove Toby screaming from sleep.

Harrison wasn't quite sure what he had expected, but this certainly wasn't it. He knew only that he wanted his son back, and this less than emotionally balanced man slinking through the Beecher household was not him.

"I believe Tobias was quite taken with Jenna," Victoria said, her smile smug. The Penfields had left hours earlier. Victoria had managed to hold fast to her satisfaction until she and Harrison retreated to their bedroom that evening.

"Victoria," Harrison said.

"He needs this," Victoria cut across her husband's protest. "Tobias has been hiding away too long. A nice young woman like Jenna is precisely what he needs."

Harrison was far from sure of that. He didn't think that he had ever known what it took to make Tobias happy. Harrison remembered that Toby's cheeks had been flushed, eyes bright when he picked him up during the rain storm. Harrison didn't know about happy, but he knew that Toby had looked more vivacious that evening than he had since the initial flare of joy upon his release. Toby was, to Harrison's mind, far from ready for a romantic entanglement despite Victoria's urgings. A friend, on the other hand. . . someone new, someone to add a touch of excitement to Toby's life. Yes, Harrison decided, that might be just what Toby could use right now.

He still had the telephone number Chris Keller had provided when giving directions. It would be the proper thing to do were Harrison to call the young man. Thank him for aiding Tobias. . . maybe with a meal? A nice surprise like that should certainly take Toby's mind off of his troubles for a little while.

"Yes, darling," Harrison said absently, mind taken up with his own plans. "It certainly is time for Tobias to stop hiding."

The smile Victoria graced him with reminded Harrison Beecher of precisely what had drawn him to her upon their first meeting. Thoughts of Toby and Mr. Keller were tucked aside for the morning as Harrison settled onto his side of the bed. He reached out and cupped Victoria's face. "You amaze me," Harrison said.

"I know," Victoria said and laughed softly into Harrison's palm. "Now, come to bed."


End file.
